“No more contracts,” I said, the warmth of him seeping into me. “Not between us.”
His smile was the most honest—crooked and quick—that I’d ever seen from him.
He knew me well enough. He hadn’t touched me since I’d asked. He hadn’t tried to change my mind. Even now, he waited for me to set the pace of our conversation. It was refreshing.
I pulled away from him slowly. “You’ve kept your distance.”
“You took my request seriously.” He nodded toward the mouth of the cavern. “It’s only fair, especially now, that I take you seriously.”
Julian never took me seriously and never at my word. He didn’t think I was passionate either, always pairing the word with intimacy. He thought, one day, passion would take me, I would take him, and all would be well if he just kept working at it. He’d have never left me to my own devices.
“Thank you, Alistair.”
What did it say about me that I understood Alistair Wyrslaine so well and he understood me better than anyone else?
He offered me his arm, sighed when I took it, and led me away from the Door. “You were right, of course. I trapped you here. Haven’t you ever wanted something so much that you’d do anything to get it?”
“Wanting I understand,” I said softly as we wove our way back into the palace and toward his quarters. “Taking I don’t.”
People like Alistair, and even Julian, didn’t understand the dangers of wanting. They already had power, Alistair by birth and Julian by his father. Cynlira dangled power and wealth before its citizens, hooked them with the promise that one day, we, too, could be like those at the top, and then used every part of us to fuel their aims. They worked people to the bone or forced bound wrought to sacrifice until there was nothing left of them and told us we might make it if we worked harder. If we sacrificed more. If we obeyed better. If we followed the rules and made them their money, all while tearing ourselves and one another down.
“Alistair.” I splayed my hands between us, the scars of every sacrifice on clear display. “Do you know why I’m upset about this?”
“I lied to you,” he said and drew out each word. “I took away your choice.”
I nodded. I’d not thought he would know in full. “I didn’t want to be bound, because I wanted to choose exactly what sacrifices I made and for whom.”
People at the bottom were allowed to want but never to take.
“You asked me once if you were allowed to say no to me,” said Alistair.
The powerful didn’t need to carve bindings into chests to keep rebellion at bay; they only needed to keep pay low and hours long.
“You are. My word may mean little, but it’s true. I do not want to be seen as one of the Vile, making tricky deals designed to ensnare the unsuspecting,” he said, nodding to a pair of guards as we passed into a part of the palace where I’d never been. “I am certain that if you killed me, I would accept it.” He smiled but didn’t look at me. “Surely, you would have a good reason.”
This part of the palace was almost entirely carved into the dark stones of the mountains with thin vents letting in fresh air and little light. He led us to a set of tall oak doors carved with the creation story of Cynlira. I touched the rippling waves of the Tongue, its waters splitting this older, neater version of Mori. Alistair pushed one of the doors open.
“Sit,” he said and ushered me inside. “If you want.”
I didn’t. The room was long and wide, the walls lined with wooden shelves. A plush rug of red and blue cushioned my feet, and at the opposite end of the room, Alistair rustled through the drawers of a large desk. I dragged my feet through the lush threads and pressed my hips against the desk. He held out our original contract so gently he nearly dropped it.
“I understand. What do you need?”
The contract fluttered back to the desk, and Alistair pulled a pair of shears from the desk drawers. He reached out with his other hand, gloved fingers curled. I let him grasp my braid.
“Not a sacrifice,” he whispered, rubbing his thumb down the braid. “Only something of yours and mine.”
He snipped off the bottom of my braid and the ends of his, and the red and black strands tangled atop the contract. In one swift slice, he destroyed the contract and our hair. The smog of burnt hair stung my nose.
“Thank you,” I said.
Now I could save Will, even though he was guilty.
Alistair came around to my side of the desk. “I hope that we—”
“We are good, Alistair.” I laid my hand flat against his shoulder, his shudder running through me, and tugged at the uneven ends of his hair. “Needle?”
He handed it to me without question, and I pricked his thumb.
Take his blood as sacrifice, I prayed to my vilewright, and destroy the too-long pieces of his hair. Make it even.
My vilewright fluttered over him. He closed his eyes, and his hair evened out until it hung about his shoulders. I ran my fingers through it.
“You are the Crown of Cynlira,” I said and brushed his hair from his face. “They will expect you to look the part.”
“They will expect the same of you,” he muttered and pulled a small brooch from his pocket. It was gold twisted into the shapes of two phoenixes devouring each other, and their eyes were a ruby and a sapphire. The knot of their bodies was so tight and the feathers so detailed, I couldn’t tell how the goldsmith had woven it. He undid the pin and pulled me down by my shirt collar. “This is for voices of the Wyrslaine family—advisers, generals, peers, and the like. They will listen to you so long as you wear this.”
He pinned it over my heart where my binding would be if I had one.
“Why haven’t you tried to break your binding?” I asked, covering his fingers with mine.
He rolled his lips together. “It would interfere with my work. To break it, I would have to break all of them by killing the noblewrought who bound me and the court and council members who hold the bindings. For now, I am content.”
“With you,” he didn’t say, but I could feel the words in the way he leaned against me. It was almost a pity that I would have to break this delicate bond between us to save Will. Julian would never understand.
I wasn’t the same Lorena he had loved—I might never have been that Lorena—but this new one got things done.
“Fascinating.” I placed one finger beneath his chin, tilting his head back till our eyes met, and smiled. “You weren’t what I was looking for, but you’ll do.”
Thirty
The next morning, I woke up to familiar laughter outside my door. I cracked it, expecting some trick of the Door, and found Basil and Mack eating in the doorway to Basil’s room. They were a few doors down, but I could smell the jellied eels from here. Mack, locs up in a bun speckled with new silver cuffs, was eating with the look of a wolf fed turnips. Basil nibbled the filling out of a hand pie.
“Like them?” asked Basil.
“They’re great.” Mack poked at the eel cuts in his paper cup, and I wandered down to them.
“They’re an acquired taste,” I said, taking the cup from him. His fingers felt real, and the cup was definitely real. “What’re you doing here? Can’t be flirting. You’re no good at that.”
Mack opened his mouth, clucked his tongue, and looked away.
Basil grinned. “Don’t worry,” they said. “If Carlow had come out here, I would lose my words too.”
The door to her room slammed open. Basil jumped. Carlow, wearing only a gauzy dress and the sticky remnants of sleep about her red eyes, raised a mug to Basil. Wine sloshed out of it.
“Bold to invoke me,” she said, “when you know damn well I do everything out of spite.”
Basil sniffed. “Is that mourning wine?”
“It is morning.” She sniffed the mug. “I thought this was my tea…” She vanished back in
to the room and reappeared with a different mug. “You never invite me to parties.”
“You hate parties,” said Basil. “And this isn’t one.”
“Then be quieter.”
The door slammed, unnecessarily, behind her.
“That’s our cue to leave.” I tipped the last of Mack’s eels into my mouth and tossed the cup at Carlow’s door. “He’s got a sweet tooth, by the way. Not much for salty things.”
“I’m fixing to kill you.” Mack grinned, though, and flicked my shoulder. “Met Basil this morning in the market and needed to see you. I think you should talk to Jules.”
We said goodbye to Basil and left for Noshwright. Mack’s stoic expression kept dropping. I looped our arms.
“What happened?” I asked quietly.
“A lot we didn’t know about.” Mack shook his head and sighed. “Will’s all right with dying. He says he made his peace with being sacrificed the moment you left Felhollow, but Julian’s not handling it well. It’s a lot for him to take in on such short notice, and I don’t agree with Will. It’s putting a lot of things in perspective.”
“Like Basil Baines,” I said. “Never known you to make the first move.”
Mack laughed through his nose. “They’re the only good part of Mori, no offense.”
“Offense taken but understandable,” I said, squeezing him tightly. “People still deserve happiness even when the world’s a mess.”
“It’s a right bigger mess than we figured. Killing Alistair wasn’t all Will was up to.”
I nodded. “All right. No more talking till we get to Noshwright.”
We walked quickly. Mack kept his face down but his eyes up, taking in every inch of the palace grounds. I pressed close to him, worry shaking gently through me, and kept pace. Trying to assassinate Alistair and letting me sign that contract was bad enough. Will had doomed us both.
Will and Julian were waiting for us in the dining room. The table had been cleared and the ledgers organized, a map of Cynlira laid out like a tablecloth. Pins sprouted all across the country, mostly in larger cities, and a single one pierced Felhollow. Will rose when I entered, and Julian let out a strangled yelp. He threw his arms around me.
“You good?” he asked, mouth against my ear.
I swallowed, skin prickly and tight. The Door. Will. There was so much in my mind that I couldn’t handle anything on my skin. It was all too much to think about.
“I’m good,” I said. “I’m a little tired though. Sorry.”
I hugged him quickly and pulled away, and he frowned.
“Here.” Julian sat me in a chair and then dragged it next to his, dangling an arm over my shoulder. “First, my father owes you an apology.”
I nodded, sweat gathering in the skin beneath his arm. “He does.”
“I wronged you.” Will sat on my other side, perched on the edge of the chair, and leaned over his knees. His mouth held a downward tilt. “I was greedy, and when you leapt to my defense, I led that greed override my pride and worry over you. You were always like family. I owed you more than that, and I’m sorry. I understand that the contract can’t be broken. I will fulfill my part. I only ask that you hear me out.”
He held out his hand, and I took it. He and Julian weren’t like family—they were my family.
Or had been.
He clapped his other hand over mine, holding me tight, and his smooth skin was clammy against my rough scars. “It means a lot that you’re here, and I think Mack could use someone like you to convince him. You’re exactly what we need, Lorena.”
I was always what someone needed.
“You’re working on the Door with His Excellency,” said Will in a tone I hadn’t heard since Julian was eight and stole a whole pie from Mack’s mother. “What do you know about it?”
“You know I am, but you think you know something I don’t,” I said slowly. “The Door will open soon, the Vile will be unleashed, and Cynlira will be overrun.”
No one flinched at the news.
“I know how you should know that, but Shearwill didn’t have Carlow’s numbers until recently,” I said. “You wouldn’t have known it was opening so soon when you tried to have Alistair Wyrslaine killed.”
“No, I do not know because of Carra’s noblewrought.” Will leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms like this was a normal conversation. “The council has been aware of the Door’s weakening for a while now, and Carra’s numbers only bolster our cause. I and most of the council have been preparing for the day the Door opens. We have a plan for the end of the world, but His Excellency’s research threatens that plan. He cannot continue.
“We have all,” Will said, “acquired the necessary resources for survival when cut off from Liran farmland, an acceptable number of noblewrought given that twelve of my friends control their bindings, and enough consecrated land to support us without Vile intervention. Old churches are, thankfully, quite cheap.”
I shrugged off Julian’s arm and pulled one of the ledgers to me, lines upon lines of gun sales and land purchases averaging out to a nice little amount of gold tiens. I’d never even seen one. I tapped the column dedicated to listing Will’s last purchase, an old church in Formet. “There’s not enough room in Formet for everyone, and there aren’t enough churches across Cynlira for the people not in Mori.”
“We don’t entirely know how we’ll do it yet,” said Julian.
“Put your mettle to it,” I said and shrugged. “I’m sure you’ll…”
Hyacinth Wyrslaine’s magic made me choke on “figure something out,” and I smacked the table.
Will raised one brow. “Lorena?”
“The Sundered Crown destroyed my ability to lie before she died, and it cuts off sarcasm too.” I rubbed my throat. “Will, you can’t leave most of Cynlira to die.”
“Did she really?” asked Will, fingers tapping against his thigh and smiling. “We heard rumors of you, but most of them were outlandish. That could be useful though.”
“Fine. Fine.” I flipped the papers before me over, chest tight. My eyes stung. “That’s what the vilewrought was for then? Why you hired her to kill Alistair?”
“Yes,” Will said, “and that is why I let you make that deal. It bought me time to tell Julian and prepare him to take over for me once I am sacrificed. The peerage had its chance to rule. It is our turn now.”
“So for years, the council has been buying land the Vile can’t cross, hoarding food and arms, and collecting wrought so that they can hunker down when the Door opens? And it will, because you need it to open, but only on yours terms.” I covered my mouth with a hand. “You’ll let the rest of Cynlira die? The peers? The people?”
Will glanced at Julian over my shoulder. “We have determined which towns will be the most useful in the coming years. They, like Felhollow, will be protected. Of course, anyone outside of those havens who survives will be a boon to us. It will be an honor to lead them.”
They weren’t creating a better world for their kids to inherit; they were creating a world for them and their kids to rule.
“Cynlira is dying.” Julian pressed his hand to the small of my back, but the comforting gesture made me flinch. “Even if you found some way to shut the Door, we’d still be stuck here with the peerage and dwindling resources, cut off from the rest of the world. If you mess up, the Door opens, and none of us are ready.”
“And the Vile will cull the population,” said Will. “Most peers will be in Mori, and the Vile will emerge here first. We’ll be left with few enough people for our resources to support and only the ones useful enough to survive the Vile and new world.”
“What do you think?” Julian asked.
“I think the people who can afford to prepare for the end of the world like this could have afforded to fix it.”
Julian reacted as if I’d slapped him. Across the tab
le, so that only I could see, Mack raised both of his hands so that only his first and last fingers were up, like a bull’s horns. Bullshit. I nodded.
“Fix is a strong word.” Will turned to me, hands on his knees, and leaned forward. “There’s a lot wrong in Cynlira, from the peerage to the people, and no amount of money can fix that. This is the sacrifice we are willing to make to save Cynlira.”
Vilewrought were kin to sacrifice. I knew it better than I knew myself, and this wasn’t it.
“How brave of you,” I muttered. “I’ve heard enough.”
“I haven’t,” said Mack. His gaze cut to Julian. A trembling tension gripped his body, shaking his leg under the table and his fingers above it. “How many people can your safe havens support and for how long?”
“About twenty thousand,” said Will. “Our families, a few towns, soldiers, noblewrought, and other necessities can survive on what we’ve got for about a decade if there are no issues. After that, we either fight back against the Vile or cut a deal. They get part of Cynlira; we get the other part.”
“So more people could survive for five years?” I asked.
“Lore.” Julian groaned and pulled away from me. “In the grand scheme of things, what are their lives if they only survive five more years?”
“The scheme of things!” I surged to my feet. “If I’d never left the Wallows, you’d be killing me. You’re killing folks not lucky enough to be born to rich parents. You’re killing folks like Mack or most of Felhollow. If you weren’t from there, you’d be killing all our friends.”
Julian grabbed my wrist. “You’re not still in the Wallows.”
“That’s not the point,” I said. “You’re spitting in the face of all those you’re willing to sacrifice without their knowledge.”
“Sacrifice?” He snorted. “Like we’ve not heard what you’ve been doing? How many have you killed for that boy, and what makes that different from this?”
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